No, not that “lit.” These brand names are inspired by literature and borrowed from the language of … well, language. Why? I can only guess. Maybe they want to communicate something about creativity and inspiration, but who knows? The names appear literary, but the stories their owners are telling are mysteries. And sometimes, as Dr. Freud might have said, a trend is just a trend.
Produced by a Paso Robles (California) winery called Field Recordings, which, I grant you, is a pretty good name – although one with an acoustic, not literary, pedigree. If you’re looking for an explanation of “Fiction,” though, this is what you’ll find.
Daybreak, I load the van and set out. The path quickly changes from highway to frontage road, to side road, to no road. Addresses begin to dwindle, the buildings become fields, but I’m not looking at the road. Eyes wide open for the thick lines of vines rolling through any river basin or over any outcropping along the horizon. I must continue every day. These lines will come together to create the next vintage tale.
Maybe he made it up. Or maybe it’s a legal fiction.
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Acronym fashion. Or, as the URL styles it, ACRNM, probably because someone else is using Acronym.com (see below).
Uber-hip, uber-expensive clothing for men and women, from Munich. Challenging website. No explanation of the name.
Acronym Gore-Tex “Infinium” coat, $2,160
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Acronym, “The Largest Independent Search Agency.” Offices in New York, London, Singapore, and Toronto.
Why “Acronym”? The “About” section of the website tells us that the company was founded in 1995 by a Russian business student, Anton Konikoff. And this:
When we started out, our tagline was, Keyword=Customer, because keywords were the closest proxy for consumer intent in search. In fact, the name Acronym is itself a nod to keywords.
I … don’t know what that means. For what it’s worth, though, the Acronym website is bristling with initials: SEO, UX, PPC, AI, KO.
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Verb hair care. Based in Austin, Texas; sold at Sephora and elsewhere. No explanation for the name, just this: “In our spare time we verb in our Verb.” Uh-huh.
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Verb Hotel. A boutique hotel in Boston (and, soon, London).
When I wrote about Verb Hotel in 2014, I cited this bad paragraph from the company’s website:
Well, if you want to get literary about it, “Verb” describes an action, and a state of being. But we like that it came from “reverb”—a reminder of the music and attitude that’s inspired us all throughout the years.
That language – I think it’s fair here to call it verbiage – has since been deleted, but nothing more illuminating has replaced it.
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Prose. This hair-care brand touts its “professional expertise” (as opposed to amateur expertise? or professional cluelessness?), so maybe “Prose” is meant to evoke “pros.” I honestly have no idea – there’s no brand story on the website or in the packaging – but I confess that I have used and appreciated the hair “mask.”
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Prose & Poetry. I found no explanation for the name of this women’s clothing brand, which is currently sold at Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, and elsewhere. Maybe its meant to convey a combination of “doggerel” and “dull.” Everything I found by this label was both expensive and appalling; on the other hand, everything was also on sale, which may mean – pretty please – that the brand is on its way out.
Prose & Poetry at Saks Fifth Avenue
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Poetry. A British fashion brand, sold internationally, that specializes in gauzy, loosely fitted women’s clothing. I suppose there’s a certain lyrical quality to many of these clothes, although the brand statement is decidedly prosaic:
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Narrative, “Oakland's new destination for affordable vintage home decor, furniture, art, and gifts.”
“Narrative” is also the name of a department at Nordstrom stores where you’ll find “traditional separates with roomier fits,” according to an old description on a style blog. Nordstrom also has a women’s department called Point of View and another called TBD. Maybe a frustrated screenwriter was in charge of category-naming.
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